I waited there until she drove by, let her go a block, then followed. I was particularly careful this time, since now she knew my car.
When I saw her drive into the shopping mall, I turned and drove back to her house. I knew it would take her an hour to complete the Nautilus circuit, and it was likely she would drive on to work from there.
But there was always the possibility she would return home first, so I gave myself forty-five minutes of safe time. If she came back unexpectedly or a suspicious neighbor called the police, I'd claim I was looking for my watch. A pretty thin story, but it would have to do. I was taking a chance, but it would be worth it if it led me to Kim.
Deciding against a surreptitious approach, I drove aggressively into Grace's driveway, parked parallel to her door, went to it, tried it, shouted "Good morning" to the dog, then shrugged and walked aroun casually to the back.
Here I removed the basement-window screen, pushed the window open, and, being careful of my Leica, crawled into the laundry room. I went to the workout room, retrieved my watch from behind the barbells, replaced it with the cheap dime-store watch I'd bought, then ascended to the ground floor.
By this time Heidi was going bonkers. I greeted her and started to play.
"Hi, Heidi! Remember me? I'm the nice man you met last night. Yes, Heidi! Yes, good girl! Yes! yes! yes!" I soon had her in bitch heaven, wasting five minutes of my forty-five. With Heidi at my heels, I bounded up the stairs and into Grace's bedroom, where I snatched the photograph off the dresser, removed it from its frame, took it to the window, then brought out my camera and took its picture. Then I sat down at the bedroom desk and began to make a search. it didn't take me long to find the two letters from Kim. they bore recent postmarks, and a Key West, Florida, post office box number as return address. I didn't stop to read them, just took them to the window, lay them down carefully in the light, and photographed them.
Then I returned them to their envelopes, returned the envelopes to the proper drawer, returned the photograph to its frame on the dresser, and checked to make sure everything looked the way it had.
I glanced at my watch. I was surprised: I'd used only fifteen minutes of my allotted time. So far so good. Now it was time to go. But downstairs in the laundry room I panicked.
The window was too high. I couldn't climb out of it directly from the floor. Which meant I'd have to use the stepladder, which meant I'd have to leave it below the window, which meant that when Grace found the window,unlatched, she'd know someone had broken in.
But why, I wondered, should I exit through the window, when I was now in a position to use the door? I'd noticed that Grace never bothered to double-lock-she just shut the door when she left.
I pulled in the basement-window screen, latched it shut, shut the window and locked it too. I returned the stepladder to its rightful place, and then, followed closely by Heidi, went up to the main floor of the house.
So easy. Just open the door and leave. Too easy, as it turned out, for when I opened the door, Heidi gave a shrill little bark, wagged her tail and scooted out.
For a moment I stared after her, disbelieving this ridiculous turn of events ' Then, knowing I was now in very big trouble, I grabbed her leash off the coatrack, and rushed outside myself.
Heidi was squatting in the front yard taking an unexpected midmorning pee. When I came out, her eyes engaged with mine, and a cheerful expression lit up her hairy little face. I crept up on her, but she jumped away just before I could catch her. Then she squatted again, and eyed me cannily. She thought I wanted to play.
"Come here, Heidi, damnit. Come here, goddamnit!"
She peered at me strangely, confused by the displeasure in my voice.
"Here, girl. Here, little girl. I urged and coaxed. She approached me warily, suspicious of my intentions. When she was close enough, I grabbed her by her collar and quickly attached her leash.
Thank God! But when I looked back at the house, I was filled with new despair. The front door was shut. I was now locked out. When I looked down at Heidi, she cocked her head. Oh yes, she was,quite amused.
I was worried. This was a lot worse than leaving the stepladder by the basement window. I'd been lucky with Grace, I'd found out where Kim was living, but now I'd bungled the job.
"Locked out, are you, mister?" Dread ran through me as I turned. A woman, hands on her hips, was observing me from the porch next door. She wore a powder-blue terry-cloth robe, and her unruly hair was streaked with gray.
"I sure am, ma'am," I said, smiling, trying to make light of the situation.
"Grace is going to kill me for this."
The woman made a kind of disgusted face, then pushed out her lips.
"I know where she keeps the extra key."
"You do?"
"Seen her use it. It's in one of them potted plants by the door."
"Oh, that's great," I said.
"I was thinking I'd have to call a locksmith."
"The big pot in the center. One with the ferns, I think."
Heidi started yapping while I ran my hand through the topsoil around the ferns. Soon my fingers felt something smooth and metallic. I held the key up and turned back to the neighboring house.
"Thank you, ma'am. Awfully grateful for your help." She stared at me, curious. Is this the point, I wondered, when she asks me who I am?
"Poor little doggie," she said, shaking her head.
"Cooped up all day long with the windows shut. Doesn't get nearly enough exercise. Not nearly enough." She stared at me for emphasis, then sniffed and withdrew into her house.
I got Heidi safely stowed away, closed the door, returned the key to its hiding place, and got into my car. Then I hesitated. The neighbor woman would tell Grace about the incident, and as soon as she described me, Grace would know who the intruder was. Then Grace would look for me at the Devora, and then she'd find out my real name.
That was something I couldn't risk, so I decided to take another chance.
I mounted the neighboring porch and rang the bell. The woman appeared.
We spoke through the screen door.
"Sorry to bother you again, ma'am," I said.
"I sure would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Grace I locked myself out. "
She shook her head.
"Haven't spoken to the woman in six, seven years-not since she and my husband had the row. So don't worry, mister-I won't be talking to her, not just 'count of this. But I do feel sorry for that little tyke. It's a crime the way she leaves him all alone. Please come back again, if you can, and give the poor little thing a walk."
"I sure will try," I promised.
It was only while driving back to the Devora that I considered how one crime can lead to another, how a real criminal might have killed that woman just because she'd seen his face. But I wasn't a real criminal-I was just a guy searching for a girl. And now, thanks to some daring and ingenious housebreaking, I'd found out where that girl was.
My plan was to check out of the Devora, then fly direct to Florida. But first I called my number in New York, and activated my answering machine.
There was a message from the man with the threatening voice.
"How you doing, pigshit?" he asked. Detective Scotto had also called; he wanted me to call him back. But the message that caused me to change my plans was the one from Aaron Greene: "Call me, boychik. Got your photographer." I immediately phoned him at his store.
"Yeah, we found him, Geoffrey," Aaron said.
"Sid Walzer, the Pentax repair man, recognized him from your composite.
His name's Adam Rakoubian. 'Dirty Adam." Sleazeball, from what I hear."
"Name sounds Armenian. What's sleazy about him?"
"The way he operates. Approaches young women on the street, teenage, underage-he doesn't care. Claims he's this famous fashion photographer, then lays on the charm. 'Hey, gorgeous!" 'You're beautiful, sweetheart!" 'How 'bout you pose for me, darling?" That jerky line. But funny thing-about fifty percent of the time it actually works. He gets them up to his studio, and once up there they're dogmeat for his lens."